On the Jail Steps

I’ve won the race.   Young man, I’m new! Old Sallow-face   Good luck to you! I’ve turned about,   And paid for sin. And you come out,   As I go in. Ten years! but mark,   I am free, free! Ten years of dark   Shall gather me. My wife—long-while   She wept her pain. She cannot smile   She weeps again. My little one   Shall know my call. Child is there none   For sin grows tall. Now who are you,   Spar of hell’s flood? And who, and who,   But your own blood?